Tuesday, February 14, 2006

He Buries the Law

The President of the War on Terror stopped by our apartment Saturday night. He was worried about me. He wanted to keep me company. Tony and Shelly had been absent for two days already. (They came home Sunday. Yes, I left them Abu Ghraib pyramids in the corner of the south forest in the middle of the night! Such gifts.)


The President of the War on Terror sat on the lip of my litter box, dangling his butterfly feet.

The President of the War on Terror brought a copy of the Constitution with him. We buried it under a mound of luscious litter sand pellets. He never looked happier. I told him I could see a piece of the document still sticking out of the sand. I mean, it wasn't really buried. My god, even when he's burying the Law, he's not competent. "Don't worry, Shimmy," he said. "We can smother the rest of the Constitution with that wet clump over there."

The President of the War on Terror was informed the levees broke on August 29. He told the country he learned the levees broke on August 30. He said he thought we'd "dodged a bullet" on August 29. He said they never knew the levees were breaking till it was too late. In a draft report that will be issued tomorrow, February 15, a group of House Republicans write: "If this is what happens when we have advance warning, we shudder to imagine the consequences when we do not. Four and a half years after 9/11, America is still not ready for prime time."

The President of the War on Terror helped me bury the Constitution, then he came came home and took off his shoes and socks. In his bare feet, he told Cheney (who just shot a man), "Today I wrestled one of those giant rock pythons you see on the Maryland interstate all the time. It was trying to squeeze to death a little boy. I saved the boy's life," he lied. "Then I jumped off a roof holding only an umbrella, and the wind currents lofted me a couple hundred yards, where I landed on Scarlett Johansson's shoulders. Then she asked me to marry her. Then I said no. Then with my bare hands, I dug a hole from Silver Spring, Maryland, back to the White House. With my bare hands."

2 Comments:

Anonymous Kalo said...

Junkikitti and LaTeDa are delighted to report that King George XLIII (aka The President of the War 0n Terror) has not defiled-debased-deflowered-desecrated-sullied-dishonored-contaminated their litterbox with the mindless democratic scribblings of those founding fathers--ironic that Shimmy can more easily piss on said document in the confines of a 15X15" box than King George can in the spaciousness of that big white house. We need to credit his royal determination.

9:22 AM  
Blogger Shimmy said...

O Kalo! So nice to hear from you. I'm sorry that 11 years ago I hissed at you in Tony's office. I didn't like the way the carpet felt on my pulpous paws that day.

Good for Junkikitti and LaTeDa that they don't get stalked in their litter box playhouses like I do. Brit Hume from Pravda came by today for an interview. Why does he come to see me? Can't he go to Abu Ghraib and score an interview with Josef K.?

7:18 PM  

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